


Brown Eyed Handsome Man

by DixieSiryn



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Don't expect a happy ending, Duke hates country music, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Haven, Louisiana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieSiryn/pseuds/DixieSiryn





	Brown Eyed Handsome Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duke takes a trip to South Louisiana to conduct a little business. He finds more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-series and the only Haven character (so far) is Duke. Un-betad. Anyone interested in the job?

When Duke woke to the sound of Patsy Cline singing "Crazy" his suspicions were confirmed: There really was a hell, and its soundtrack was country music. Then his sense of smell kicked in and he decided he was in heaven after all. The air held the unmistakable scent of bacon frying.

Duke wasn't quite sure why he thought he was dead. Maybe it was the complete lack of pain when he knew for a fact that he'd had the shit beat out of him until he passed out, confirming his suspicion that there was something not quite right about the deal when he took it, but the money was too good to pass up.

Wondering why it was so dark in hell/heaven, Duke realized he still had his eyes closed. When he opened them he was immediately hit with several realizations at once: The pain was not gone, this was neither heaven nor hell, and he most definitely was NOT dead. 

Footsteps near the doorway told Duke he was not alone. He turned his bloodshot gaze to the doorway. A man was standing there looking at warily at Duke. He was a broad shouldered man, early thirties, about 6 feet tall, with short blond hair. A man who worked with his hands, if the callouses were any indication, and out of doors, judging by the reddened skin on the back of his thick neck. Something was familiar about him but Duke couldn’t put his finger on it. Not surprising, considering his current state.

“Good. You’re awake. Bathroom’s across the hall, there’s a bucket by the bed if you think you won’t make it, and breakfast is ready, when you think you can handle it.”

The man moved on down the hall, leaving Duke alone and wondering what the hell had become of his clothes, as he was naked under the sheet. On the heels of that thought came another, disturbing one: Had he undressed himself or…?? Deciding not to dwell on it, Duke sat up and looked around, careful not to move too quickly, for fear of losing his head as well. There, on a chair near the bed, were his clothes – clean, dry and nicely folded. His boots were nearby and in a sudden wave of panic Duke checked for his knife. Good, still there, along with his wallet and the contents of his pockets.

Now all he needed was a hot shower, just as soon as his head stopped spinning and his stomach stopped lurching. 

Wearing the bed sheet like a toga, Duke stumbled into the bathroom where he found soap, towels, and a toothbrush laid out for him. An old fashioned claw foot tub was positioned underneath a showerhead at one end of the small room. Closing the door Duke dropped the sheet and headed toward it.

A short while later Duke emerged from the bathroom feeling a bit more human. And hungry. Coming to the end of the short hall he found a kitchen table, set for three, where the blond man sat sipping coffee and ignoring him.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming out. Hot water does have restorative powers, doesn’t it?”

Duke turned toward the voice to find a woman offering him a mug that read “Breaker Breaker 1-9” on the side of it. Taking it, Duke looked at the woman quizzically.

“My uncle was a long-haul trucker. This was his favorite mug. Coffee pot’s over there. Help yourself.”

Duke made his way over to the corner of the kitchen and poured himself a cup of the darkest coffee he’d ever seen. He usually preferred his coffee black but upon taking a sip decided a little cream and sugar might be in order.

Taking note of Duke’s efforts to dose the coffee the woman smiled.

“It’s a little on the strong side, I know. My grandpa poured the coffee back through the grounds three times before he pronounced it drinkable. Growing up drinking that you develop a taste for strong coffee or you stop drinking it altogether.”

As she turned back toward the stove Duke allowed himself to take in the details of this woman. She appeared to be a few years older than he, maybe in her early thirties, and was what people politely referred to as “curvy.” With her long, curly red hair and ivory skin dotted with freckles [and most likely a feisty attitude] she was definitely intriguing. 

“We met last night when my brother brought you home, but your memory might be a bit foggy on the subject. You were a little out of it so we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Ellen and that’s my brother Del. 

“I’m Duke. Crocker. From Haven, Maine.”

“Haven. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it. Del? You ever heard of it?”

The big man at the table just shook his head, never looking up from his Times Picayune.

“It’s a small town. No reason you would have heard of it this far south unless you know somebody from there.”

“Well, then, I guess now I do, Mr. Crocker.”

“Duke. Please, just call me Duke.”

“All right then, Duke. Have a seat at the table. There’s bacon and there were biscuits but it looks as though Del finished those off.”

Ellen gave her brother a pointed look which he ignored.

Duke cocked his head, listening to the song on the nearby stereo.

"Not my kind of music"

"Not your stereo." With a wink she went back to the stove, humming along with Patsy.

Duke choked on his coffee. Yep. Definitely feisty.

“I’ll have French toast ready in a moment.”

“Ahh, that’s okay. Coffee and bacon will do. I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

The truth was Duke really was hungry but had never cared for French toast. It had always seemed like nothing but soggy bread.

“Well, you’ve never had my French toast. It’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

Not wishing to seem rude Duke smiled and nodded his agreement. Having breakfast with his new acquaintances seemed the quickest way to find out what the hell happened last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this about two years ago, around the same time I wrote my other Haven drabbles. I only managed this one chapter before my muse went on a long vacation. (Damned lazy pirate!) Anyway, I've decided to try to give you the rest of the story hinted at in "Down In New Orleans" and "Secrets." We'll see how it goes. Positive vibes (in the form of kudos and comments) are likely to get the muse's attention. After all, he can't have me taking credit for the story! Unless y'all hate it, of course.


End file.
